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This is an odd book, both whimsical and existential. The narrator is Madison Spencer, a chubby 13-year-old child of movie stars with a big vocabulary and a fatally scant knowledge of sex. She is also dead, and now resides in hell, which is sort of the Breakfast Club meets fourth-grade gross-out humor (there are dandruff deserts and fecal oceans). I admire Palahniuk--whose other books I haven't read; I know!--for trying to create stakes for a character who is already dead. It more or less works because the afterlife, like life, is apparently what you make of it. He's interested in the malleability of identity, so you can guess that the resident cheerleaders and jocks aren't just cheerleaders and jocks. I liked the creative details of Palahniuk's particular idea of hell--where every demonic limo driver has a screenplay he wants you to read--but without the grounding that realism provides, I was never drawn all the way in. It's a light, mostly fun, kinda purgatorial read.